


A Series of Messes

by GoodGuyJean



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), And world building, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Kinda Fluffy, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post Chapter 90+ Spoilers, canonverse, maybe a little bit of plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 19:28:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10725693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodGuyJean/pseuds/GoodGuyJean
Summary: “What?” Jean growls without looking up from his task, shrugging his shoulders out of the leather suspenders and letting them fall to his waist.“It’s me, Squad Leader,” a familiar voice calls back, muffled by the thick wooden door. “Are you decent?”Jean rolls his eyes at the formal tone but a grin tugs at his lips. “For you, Specialist? Never.”





	A Series of Messes

Squad Leader Jean Kirstein stumbles into his private room— _Room? Hah! More like a priest’s cell!_ —sometime close to midnight, his body aching from having spent the day standing on the harbor wall, watching the horizon through a telescope for signs of approaching Marleyan ships. Commanders Hange and Pixis and Commander-in-Chief Zackly decided it was simplest to take over and convert the port already built by Marley on Paradis Island, and now the Survey Corps and Garrison are holding it both as a defense against another onslaught of titans and as a place to begin building their own navy. The Engineering Corps are currently busy building and testing new types of ships, trying find models that can handle the tempestuous ocean. It’s important work, but all Jean’s ended up doing is managing his squad’s timetables as they rotate watch shifts and keep the mounted canons ready, ever on the alert for a threat that is certainly biding its fucking time. It’s simultaneously mind-numbingly dull and incredibly tense, for the longer it takes for Marley to show its face the more uneasy Jean becomes.

“ _Survey_ Corps my ass. May as well have joined the fucking Garrison,” he mutters to himself, plopping down onto his narrow bed and tugging off his boots. He’s just fumbling with the buckles on his ODM harness when there’s a light rap on his door.

“What?” Jean growls without looking up from his task, shrugging his shoulders out of the leather suspenders and letting them fall to his waist.

“It’s me, Squad Leader,” a familiar voice calls back, muffled by the thick wooden door. “Are you decent?”

Jean rolls his eyes at the formal tone but a grin tugs at his lips. “For you, _Specialist_? Never.”

Tactics Specialist Armin Arlert cracks the door open and slips inside, careful not to make too much noise. He’s dressed in slightly rumpled civilian clothes--a simple blue cardigan, a white button up shirt, and black pants--and his shoulder-length yellow-blond hair is kept out of his eyes by a practical ponytail. His boyish, clean-shaven face looks a little tired and drawn, like he’s spent all day squinting at books in the barracks again, but he smiles warmly when his large blue eyes meet Jean’s hazel ones. It’s a sweet sight, one that still causes Jean’s heart to rabbit in his chest even though he’s seen it hundreds of times before.

Armin holds up a brown glass bottle for Jean to see, eliciting an appreciative whistle from Jean. He presses a slender finger to his lips as a signal for Jean to be quieter, an innocent gesture that nevertheless starts a familiar warmth stirring in Jean’s stomach.

“Where’d you get that?” Jean asks in a low voice, respecting Armin’s nonverbal request to keep it down. He pats the space next to him on the bed in an invitation which Armin accepts, kicking off his shoes before settling down beside Jean, his legs crossed underneath himself.

“Commander Pixis was in a generous mood today,” Armin explains, showing Jean the bottle's label.

Jean suppresses the urge to whistle again. “Generous is an understatement. This is top-shelf shit! Pixis just _gave_ you this?” He shoots an incredulous look over at Armin, who shrugs.

“He said if I ever want to rise even further up the ranks, I have to learn how to drink properly. And then he just took this down off his shelf and handed it over.”

Jean snorts. _Classic Pixis. Must’ve been drunk._ “Are you sure you don’t want to save this? Not that I’m not flattered, but sleeping over in my bunk doesn’t seem like all that special an occasion.” In the grand scheme of things, of course. Privately, Jean feels like every time Armin shows up at his door is cause for celebration.

The corners of Armin’s eyes crinkle with amusement. “We’re not going to drink the whole bottle. I just thought we could use a little pick-me-up.” Then he arches a thick eyebrow at Jean. “And don’t get ahead of yourself, Squad Leader. Who says I’m sleeping over?”

“Hmm, well you’re certainly _welcome_ to stay. Also, door’s closed, Arm. You can drop the title now.” Jean rummages through a small chest near his bed and procures two battered tin cups. He sets them between himself and Armin on the mattress. “I’m never going to be into that power-play junk.”

Armin pops the stopper on the bottle and pours a small amount of whisky into each cup. “It’s not about . . . _that_ ,” Armin says, going a little pink and avoiding Jean’s gaze. “It’s about discretion.”

“Everyone here knows we were friends _before_ our promotions, Armin. Nobody’s going to be tipped off that we’re sleeping together if you say my fucking name,” Jean grumbles, picking up one of the cups. It’s a conversation they keep having, one which gets under Jean’s skin a little more than he’d like to admit. Armin is--to Jean's mind--overly concerned with his feelings for Jean potentially being "used against him" in some way. He's insisted on keeping their relationship very quiet, putting up walls of formality that seem to go beyond mere discretion--they were, after all, in the same cadet class and close friends for many years before they became lovers. Personally, Jean thinks that Armin's whole premise is slightly ridiculous: all relationships make a person vulnerable to a certain extent, and there's no way to live a life completely devoid of human attachment. But it's hard to change Armin's stubborn mind once he's convinced himself of something.

Trying to mask how bothered he is, Jean knocks his drink back, taking a slightly bigger swallow than perhaps is advisable. The smoky whisky burns as it slides down his throat and he sputters, coughing a majority of it back up into his lap.

He feels Armin place a gentle hand on his back. “Are you choking, Jean? Nod if you’re choking!” Jean feels a stab of guilt at the note of panic in Armin's voice. He shakes his head as he tries to calm his hacking fit.

“M’fine,” Jean croaks when he catches his breath. He looks at the brown splotches of liquid now dotting his white uniform pants and curses. “Wha . . .what a waste! Sorry, Arm.”

“It’s not that big a deal,” Armin replies, smiling over at him in relief. He rubs Jean’s back a few times before picking up his own drink and taking a sip. He closes his eyes and shudders, his whole face screwing up and his cute button nose wrinkling in distaste. Jean can’t help but chuckle at the spectacle.

“I _will_ learn to like it,” Armin insists, his voice raspy with disgust. “Someday. Then I can go drinking with the commanders without making a complete fool of myself.”

Jean’s mouth stretches in a wry, self-deprecating grin. “Hey, at least you kept yours down! I’m the one who dribbled it all down my front like a baby.”

“Pixis will be disappointed in us,” Armin intones solemnly, but the corners of his lips are twitching.

Jean holds his now half empty tin cup to his heart and claps his other hand on Armin’s shoulder. “I’m afraid the commander is going to have to kick us out of the military now. We’ll get dishonorable discharges for not properly appreciating his fancyass liquor.”

Armin’s eyes are twinkling with mischief now. It’s a rare—but good—look on him, brightening up his whole face and counteracting the dark smudges underneath his eyes. “They’ll take away our medals. Queen Historia will have a special ceremony for _un-dubbing_ us Heroes of the Walls.”

“Floch will show up just to rub it in, the bastard.”

“Our faces will be on news billboards in every city. Everyone will know our shame!”

“‘Arlert and Kirstein: They Just Can’t Hold Their Liquor!’”

“Your mother will be so disappointed. She won’t be able to show her face in society anymore—they’ll laugh her out of her new house in Stohess!”

“Hey! Leave my mother out of this!” Jean reaches up to ruffle Armin’s hair. The tactics specialist lets out a rather undignified squawk and tries to pull away. His jerky movements cause him to spill the remaining contents of his cup on the floor. Jean and Armin stare at the little puddle of top-shelf whisky for a second before both dissolving into giggles.

“Now it’s a capital offence,” Jean chuckles. He takes Armin’s cup, stacks it with his own, and sets them both the floor. Then he sits himself fully on the bed and leans back against the stone wall with his legs stretched out before him. He grabs Armin’s arms and gently tugs the smaller man onto his lap. Armin offers no resistance, straddling Jean’s thighs and wrapping his arms around his neck. He lets out a contented sigh and buries his face in Jean’s shoulder while Jean gently strokes his soft hair with one hand.

“You smell a bit like whisky.” Armin’s voice is muffled by Jean’s shoulder.

“So do you,” Jean murmurs, nuzzling his nose against Armin’s hair. Really, Armin smells like a lot of things: the nice whisky, sure, but also sweat, the briny ocean breeze, the faint scent of the standard-issue bars of soap they all use. And something distinctly _Armin_ —something that Jean can’t quite put a name to but yearns for whenever they’re apart.

They sit snuggled against each other in companionable silence for a few moments, simply enjoying the warmth and weight of human contact. And then something occurs to Jean.

“So I know _I_ think standing around staring at the ocean all day is the dullest job in the world, but why do _you_ need a pick-me-up?” He asks, giving Armin’s slight frame a tiny shake. Armin’s only response is to let out another small sigh and nestle closer to Jean.

Jean’s not so easily deterred, however. “Something happen?” he prompts again.

“Nothing in particular . . . ,” Armin mumbles against the exposed skin of Jean’s neck, which begins to tingle in a rather distracting way. “Just a lot of work. Trying to figure out what Marley could be up to, how we can shore up our defenses as much as possible . . . plus, Hange wants to run some more titan tests tomorrow.”

Jean hisses in sympathy, his blood turning cold at the reminder of what Armin has become and the limitations that come with his particular power. “What more can they possibly learn after three years?” he asks, trying to keep his voice neutral, devoid of emotion. Armin probably doesn’t need to deal with Jean’s personal angst right now, on top of everything else.

He feels Armin shrug in his arms. “It’s just routine. Sort of like a check-up to see if anything’s . . . changed.” There’s a potent pause and then. “I’m fine, Jean. Really.”

Not quite convinced, Jean opens his mouth to ask a follow up question, but his words die in his throat when Armin presses his lips to the sensitive skin on the underside of his jaw. It’s such a light touch but it sends an incredible shock through Jean’s body, starting at the pulse point that Armin has kissed and fizzling out in Jean’s toes. Armin pulls back from Jean’s neck and looks him in the eyes for a brief, charged moment before kissing him on the mouth. It starts off gentle and slow but grows gradually more insistent. Armin’s breath tastes faintly of the whisky, but it’s sweeter, lacking the drink's usual sting. Jean’s eyes slide closed and his arms instinctively tighten around Armin, pulling the smaller man as close to him he can manage. Armin unwinds his own arms from Jean’s neck; he keeps one hand on the side of Jean’s face, but the other starts to wander, tugging the hem of Jean’s shirt out of his pants so that it can slide up underneath his shirt and caress his back. The skin-to-skin contact makes Jean shudder and the fire in his abdomen spark red hot. He presses his tongue to Armin’s lips and the other man opens up eagerly, moaning faintly when Jean licks the roof of his mouth.

Jean’s pants are just starting to feel uncomfortably tight when Armin grinds hips lightly into Jean’s lap. Jean groans helplessly in response. Armin breaks off the kiss and starts licking and nipping his way's down Jean’s neck, his deft fingers making quick work of undoing Jean’s shirt buttons. For his part, Jean slides his hands down the back of Armin’s pants, groping his ass. Armin huffs out a whine and bites down on Jean’s neck a little harder than usual.

“Ahh-hh ow!” Jean hisses at the heady mixture of pleasure and pain which suddenly courses through him.

Armin immediately sits back, his blue eyes wide with worry. “Oh, oh no! Sorry!” He pulls back Jean’s collar to examine his neck, his concerned expression melting into one of relief. “Oh, good. No marks, so far.”

“You kn—,” Jean begins, then clears his throat with a bit of embarrassment. His voice came out a little higher than he would like. He tries again. “Er, you know, it’s not _that_ big a deal. Nobody’s going to measure the teeth marks and say, ‘Ah yes, Armin Arlert was here!’”

Armin fixes Jean with a pointed look and opens his mouth to speak--probably to say something like, "Someone will be able to put two and two together, Jean"--but whatever he was about to say morphs into a whimper when Jean gives his backside another squeeze.

Jean leans in to kiss the corner of Armin’s mouth. “Sooo . . . what do you want to do tonight?” He tries for low and sultry, but he’s pretty sure he comes off as hesitant and awkward. _Dammit._ Their friendship-turned-romance had become much more physically intimate a few months ago, but Jean often feels like they’re starting all over again whenever he has Armin in his arms.

“I . . . hmmm . . . I . . .,” Armin lowers his eyes to Jean’s mouth and he licks his lips. “How about . . . can you give me oral?” His last few words tumble out so quickly it takes Jean a moment to fully process Armin’s request. Armin’s eyes are bright and searching, his face flushed with desire and possibly, from the way he suddenly glances down again, a bit of embarrassment.

Jean’s utterly charmed.

“Sure, but you have to tell me when you’re about to come.” He gives Armin’s shoulders a light push. “Lay down.”

Armin complies eagerly, tugging off his cardigan in the process. Jean stands up starts fumbling with the last few buckles on his ODM harness, his fingers unusually clumsy as he shakes with a combination of nervousness and arousal.

“Need help?” Armin calls from the bed.

“Nah . . . just, ah, dammit.” And before he knows it, Armin is on his knees beside him and helping him loosen the leather straps around his thighs.

“Hey, I thought I was the one who was supposed to be giving the blowjob?” Jean teases as Armin disentangles him from the lower part of his harness. Armin just rolls his eyes at Jean's weak attempt to humor.

Once he’s shucked his gear and unbuttoned his pants to ease some of the strain on his dick, Jean pulls his lover up and into a filthy kiss, his fingers tangling in long blond hair. Armin’s hands start exploring Jean’s chest, and everywhere touches seems to suddenly burn. Jean takes a few steps forward, carefully guiding Armin back to the bed. They tumble down together with a little “umf!” and then Armin is splayed out underneath Jean, blinking up at him through his thick lashes. Jean’s heart is going at an alarming rate now, his veins thrumming with desire. He pulls open Armin’s shirt and begins licking and kissing a line down to his navel, pausing for a moment to nip at one of Armin’s nipples.

“Ah! N-not fair!” Armin gasps.

Jean’s response is to bite down on the softer flesh near Armin’s hip. Armin groans and lifts a knee to press it into Jean’s crotch. Jean grunts appreciatively and grinds against Armin’s leg he fumbles with the button to his lover’s pants. He pulls down on the waistband while Armin shimmies, and together they get his pants down his knees. Armin’s cock is bulging against his underwear and Jean can’t help but flick him a smug grin before leaning down to mouth at his erection through the fabric. Armin lets out a breathy whimper, his hips giving an involuntary jerk. Jean puts a firm hand on Armin’s stomach to keep him still and then, with the underwear still separating his tongue from Armin's body, he licks all the way from Armin’s balls up to the tip of his shaft.

“Why are you such a t-tease?” Armin practically growls, his leg coming up again to rub Jean’s own rapidly growing erection. Jean moans into the soft skin of Armin’s hip and then finally yanks down Armin’s underwear, freeing his hard red dick. The bright color stands in startling contrast to Armin’s pale skin and fair pubic hairs. Rather than attend to it immediately, however, Jean opts for winding Armin up a little bit more, kissing the sensitive spots on the inside of his thighs. Armin lets out a keening sound that’s so desperate Jean decides he has to give in.

Still rutting against Armin’s leg, Jean tugs down the foreskin of Armin’s cock and licks once around the swollen head before slipping it between his lips. He savors the sharp gasp Armin makes and the way it makes his own toes curl. He takes more of Armin into his mouth slowly, hollowing out his cheeks and sucking in as much as he can, but always coming back to the sensitive area at the top. He feels one of Armin’s hands wind its way into his short hair, petting rather than pulling, which Jean appreciates. The friction Armin’s providing to Jean’s own cock is driving him a little wild now and he groans around the dick in his mouth.

“Please please pleaaaase!” Armin begs inarticulately above him, which Jean takes as a cue to speed things up. He bobs his head faster and flicks his tongue across the tip, drawing a plaintive whine from his lover. Jean removes his other hand from Armin’s waist to tease his balls, and Armin starts writhing and shaking uncontrollably, his nails digging a little into Jean’s scalp.

“J-J-Jean!” He pants, and Jean’s heart skips at beat at the sounds of his name on Armin’s lips. “I’m soo-oooo, ah! Mm, I’m so c-close!” Jean hums to acknowledge the warning and then, with a slightly lewd sucking noise, takes Armin’s dick as deep into his mouth has he possibly can, his tongue pressing down the shaft. Armin gives a muffled cry—presumably he’s stuffed his free fist into his mouth to keep the noise down—and Jean feels his smaller body tense underneath him. Quickly, Jean pulls off: none of the spurt of hot cum ends up in his mouth— _thank the Walls!_ —but quite a bit of it does splash across chin and neck—the second mess he’s made this evening.

“Eugh, gross,” Jean complains without real heat, bending over to wipe himself off on Armin’s linen shirt. For his part, Armin is too blissed out to protest, his eyes glazed over and his chest heaving as he comes down from the high of orgasm. When he’s done cleaning up himself up, Jean leans down to press a kiss to Armin’s cheek. Armin wraps jelly-arms around Jean and pulls him down, holding him close for a brief moment of post-coital comfort. And then he’s kissing Jean again, slow and hot and wet, seemingly indifferent to taste of himself in Jean’s mouth. He breaks it off only to lick his hand with tortuously slow deliberation, his usually earnest blue eyes locking with Jean’s before he slips his fingers into Jean’s pants and wraps them around Jean's dick.

“ _Fuck_.”

Jean lets out a low whine and drops his head Armin’s shoulder as the other man begins pumping his shaft in measured strokes, focusing his attention on the head. With his free hand, Armin turns Jean’s face back to his for a kiss, but it’s a little bit rougher this time: he applies more pressure and then sucks Jean’s bottom lip between his teeth. Pushed closer and closer to the brink, Jean bucks into Armin’s hand. He chants a garbled mix of Armin’s name and a slew of profanities against Armin’s lips as a white-hot heat steadily builds in his abdomen. And then he's crashing over the edge, his vision blurring as he lets go and spills all over his pants.

It’s after he’s collapsed onto Armin, trembling like newborn animal, that Armin gets his revenge by wiping his sticky hand on Jean’s already quite dirty pants. Jean groans into the tangled mess that was once Armin's neat ponytail. “You’re lucky I have a clean spare.”

“You started it,” Armin chuckles weakly.

Jean’s not sure how long they lay there like that, murmuring sweetly to each other and basking in the afterglow. Eventually he decides that they can’t fall asleep like this, grimy with sweat, cum, and (in his case at least) some of the whisky from earlier. So he tugs a pliant Armin up and they strip off their remaining pieces of clothing, wiping each other clean with a cloth Jean wets with water from his canteen. Much to Jean’s delight, Armin decides he will indeed stay over, so Jean lends him one of his undershirts for the night to replace his messed up clothes.

“What if someone comes looking for you in the middle the night?” Jean probes, only half-teasing, as they settle into his narrow bed again, fitting together as best they can in the small space. It’s cramped, but the way Armin curls his warm body against Jean causes an intense emotion to bubble in Jean’s chest. He’s not ready to put a name to it, not ready to face all the consequences of having such feelings for Armin, but he’ll indulge in it a little here in the private darkness of his room.

Armin’s already half-asleep by the time Jean asks this question, but his answer, although mumbled, causes a dopey smile to spread across Jean’s face. “Then they’ll notice that I’m gone. And they’ll probably come here, because you’re my friend and you always know where to find me.”

“Yeah,” Jean whispers back, pressing a last kiss to Armin’s forehead. “I do.”

"And then they'll know, but I'm too tired to care right now."

"We'd deal with it if we had to. Night, Armin."

Jean’s starting to drift off himself when Armin speaks again, his voice thick with sleep. “Hange might.”

“Hange might what?” Jean mumbles.

“Measure the teeth marks.”

“Go to sleep, Armin.”

**Author's Note:**

> Slightly edited 4/27/16, mostly for typos and clarity. There was a brief twenty minutes where I'd added something attempting to address potential homophobia in the world, but then I decided I didn't want to get into that in this piece and took it out--it just made Jean look a bit selfish/tactless, which I didn't want. Sorry if you stopped by while that was there!
> 
> Sooo, I tried writing smut for the first time (conveniently avoiding all my other work that I'm supposed to be doing, hahaha). It's hard xDDDDD
> 
> I tried to keep it canon compliant and I really tried to think about what kind of sex Armin and Jean would have and what their attitudes towards it would be, even if it is just self-indulgent porn xD. Yet I still think it's missing some emotion? And I'm not entirely sure I succeeded at keeping them in character--they both seem a little too funny (they're both quite serious in the manga, I think). Also I made up a tiny plot to explain where they are and what they're doing etc xD 
> 
> The idea for Jean's mom getting an opportunity to move from Trost when Jean gets promoted comes from a tumblr convo with this great anon: https://goodguyjean.tumblr.com/post/159845894140/hello-random-persontm-here-again-dont-worry. :)
> 
> Mostly this is practice for including sex scenes in longer fic, so I really welcome critique! To me this doesn't seem all that . . . titillating, actually. I don't know what this is. I'm too tired (it's quite late here) to really process what I'm doing right now. Maybe I'll get embarrassed and delete it later, who knows? xD
> 
> Come talk SnK with me on Tumblr! https://goodguyjean.tumblr.com/


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